The Fates Play Around
by maroonraspberry
Summary: The Second story, following on from the events of Chance is a Fine Thing. What does the future hold for Lancelot, Tristan, Iseult, and now Taron? Will Taron's parentage ever be revealed? And can Arthur prevent Britain from being invaded by the Saxons?
1. Prologue

Prologue

"There you are little one. Look, its home-for a while, at least," Iseult said to her son. The baby screwed up his ice-blue eyes in what seemed like protest. Perhaps he knew already the history of that place; the way in which both his parents had been attached by force to either the fort or the Romans who had controlled it.

Lancelot smiled from his seat behind her and leant forwards to look at his son's face again. From now on, his child was so mouldable, so new. The future was now a new and exciting place, even if the threat of invasion was now always present. Before, with Vanora, he had been able to take a back seat; watching Bors bring up a child Lancelot knew to be his and treat as his own meant that Lancelot had no reason to form an emotional attachment to the child, or instil in himself the responsibilities of fatherhood. Those responsibilities usually weakened you. Not that they had weakened Bors at all. But he only got into fights he knew he could win. Lancelot had taken huge risks before now, and that had excited him. Lancelot frowned a little as he rode with Iseult and the child in front of him. He knew that this was going to be difficult-being a responsible father but more difficult he knew would be staying faithful to Iseult, which he knew was now an unwritten rule between them. It was in his nature to…mess around. Iseult wasn't a stupid girl by any stretch of the imagination- in fact she was once of the most profound he had met- so she wouldn't be taking any lies or idiocy. He just hoped that she would be able to forgive him if he did stumble off the path and into temptation.

Lancelot sighed. He really would have to rid his head of these Christian notions that nearly 16 years of being around Arthur had put there.


	2. Chapter One:What?

Chapter 1: Life hasn't changed that much, then

Iseult was sat in a chair, feeding her child. The fire in her warm room burned away cheerfully. Iseult stared into the flames, pictures conjured up before her. Her son was two weeks old and he still had no name. Iseult wanted it to fit him perfectly.

"Oh, darling, what are we going to do about you?" she said, stroking the baby's cheek. Her son looked up, staring into his mother's eyes, ice-blue looking at ice-blue' His eyes were undoubtedly Iseult's, but his small tuft of hair was a dark brown. Iseult could make out no other features on her son's face that would belong to either Tristan or Lancelot. In a way, she was glad; if the child was Tristan's then Lancelot wouldn't notice- at least for the moment.

The sound of footsteps can along the corridor outside. A knock at the door, then Lancelot's face appeared round the edge of it as it opened.

"Er…Iseult, there's a…a, er…" Iseult raised and eyebrow.

"A what? I am a little busy Lancelot." Lancelot gave a short, embarrassed cough.

"Yes…well…Arthur has found a…wet nurse…for you." Iseult didn't understand.

"A…wet nurse?" Iseult repeated the words carefully. "What's that in Briton?" She really had to brush up on her Latin.

"She's been told to come her and help you feed the child." Iseult suddenly realised what Lancelot meant and stared. Lancelot sighed.

"Apparently you are too…important here to be seen-"

"Doing what comes naturally?" Iseult finished. Lancelot gave an apologetic shrug and a desperate look and Iseult knew that the matter was out of both their hands. She had thought that this sort of thing would have been abolished once the Romans left, but clearly Arthur was still Roman enough to care about those sorts of things. She sighed and relented, getting up.

"Let her in, then." Lancelot stood aside and let in a woman years older than Iseult. Iseult reluctantly handed over her son and watched for a few minutes to see if he would take to this stranger. She had no need to worry, however. She suddenly felt Lancelot's hand on her shoulder and turned with a small gasp to see him smiling down at her. Iseult smiled back and forced herself to leave the room. When she shut the door, Lancelot began his apology.

"Iseult, I'm sorry, I tried to-" Iseult silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"I know, I know. You tried to stop it. Clearly Arthur still has a little too much Roman in him still" Lancelot stiffened a little, and Iseult stopped herself from criticising Arthur for the 100th time. "If I'm honest," she continued, "It leaves me a little more time to myself. I can see more of the world and-" she kissed him lightly. "More of you." Lancelot grinned like a little boy and kissed her back, lingering a little. Iseult pulled back and looked deep into his eyes with a knowing look.

"But you have things to do, I suppose?" she asked. Lancelot nodded, then kissed her again and let out a sigh. Iseult broke the silence and gave him a push.

"Go," she told him. Lancelot frowned.

"You'll be alright?" he enquired.

"Yes. I can make my own fun, you know that," she told him, grinning slyly. Lancelot smiled and winked, then turned and walked off, leaving Iseult alone in the corridor. She clicked her tongue and tapped her hips with the palms of her hands as she decided what to do. With a last look to her right at the room where her son was, she set off, walking into the belly of the fortress. At this time of ay it would be almost empty, with everyone in the fields or tending animals; sword-fighting and attending to disputes between village elders. Iseult began to explore all the rooms and ante-chambers she had not yet discovered. It was only after a couple of hours doing this, while she was walking along a narrow, windowless passage, did she realise that she was being followed. She halted a moment, then continued walking until she could turn and the follower would have nowhere to hide; there being no doors in this passageway either.

When she turned, she was nearly shocked out of her skin. Actually, was she? She couldn't tell. Perhaps it was merely the fact that her suspicions had been right.

"Tristan, why are you following me?" Iseult asked, frowning. Tristan moved slowly forwards into the light of a flickering torch set into the wall.

"I wanted to see you," he said quietly. Iseult stared blankly at him. Tristan wondered what she was thinking. She looked older suddenly. Maybe it was the light. He moved closer towards her, looking deep into her eyes. He smiled to himself as he realised that she couldn't look away. Her eyes were still as bright as ever. Iseult looked deep into his, wondering for a moment if she would ever see that light in them again.

"What?" she whispered, barely audible above their breathing. The energy between them was intense. Iseult's heart flickered slightly against her rib cage. Tristan took another step closer so that there was only an inch between them. He had her right where he wanted her. All he needed now was some sort of sign.

Iseult knew that this was wrong but…oh, she wanted something from him so badly. Tristan seemed cautious, though.

"I'm not going to break, you know," she told him. This seemed to seal it for Tristan. His lips brushed against Iseult's, then he was sweeping aside her mane of hair, kissing her neck. Iseult brought his head back level with hers and kissed him lightly, and he kissed back harder. His hand glided up her torso and rested against her breast.

"Iseult knew that this was wrong. She had had what she wanted from him and now she mist stop. But just as she was about to, Tristan pulled away. Iseult didn't know what to do. He just stood there and a devious flicker crossed his face. It was then that she realised with horror; he had been making sure that she still wanted him. Anger and frustration boiled up inside her and she stormed down the corridor away from him without another word. Oh, how could she have been so stupid? She couldn't let that happen again. No. He wasn't going to get as much as a look out of her.

And he didn't. Over the next week, she blanked him completely. A few times they passed each other in the main corridors of the fort, but Iseult pretended he wasn't there; she was so angry with him! Tristan seemed a little put out, but you could never tell with him unless he made it completely obvious. Iseult was upset too. The way she had felt when he kissed her. She knew now that it wasn't only Lancelot that would have trouble staying faithful.

Lancelot had been busy over the last few days, away from the fort with the other knights as they attended to matters that Iseult was not enlightened about, which annoyed her a little. She had been given someone else to look after her son, and yet she still couldn't involve herself in helping Arthur with the locals. Men were very hypocritical sometimes. Actually, most of the time. Even though the wet-nurse was looking after her son, Iseult didn't like leaving him for long; she was worried that he wouldn't recognise her and become too attached to this woman, whose name she had found out was Bebhinn, meaning harmony.

By the end of the week Lancelot ha returned, unbeknown to Iseult. It was early evening and her son was back with Bebhinn while she was in her room sitting at a table, absent-mindedly writing when she felt a hand at her neck. She spun round in her seat to see Lancelot standing behind her, very dirty and beaming. Iseult leapt up and flung her arms around his neck, kissing his face. She abruptly stopped doing that when the smell hit her nostrils.

"What have you been doing? Rolling around in pig swill?" Lancelot laughed. Iseult was serious, he clearly hadn't noticed.

"Oh, thank-you. I'm messy, dirty, I come straight to see you and you tell me I smell. I really feel wanted now. Iseult wondered how she could tell him sincerely that he really did smell. She decided she couldn't do it sincerely and turned around, clearing up the paper and ink. As she did so, she heard Lancelot taking off his armour and then he had wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I missed you," he told her. Iseult smiled and closed her eyes.

"So did I. Makes the smell a little more bearable." She kissed him on the cheek as she turned to face him. He chuckled to himself and pulled her closer to him, his hands in the small of her back. She tugged at his shirt, pulling the hem out of his trousers and pulling it over his head. Lancelot loosened the cross-lacing on the front of Iseult's dress, and was half-way down when a knock came at the door. Iseult froze and Lancelot looked up, rolling his eyes.

"Who is it?" he called, clearly put-out. Guinevere's voice called back to him.

"Sorry to disturb you, Lancelot, (Iseult had the distinct feeling that she had been listening) but Arthur needs your presence. There's more trouble brewing between the tribes." Lancelot groaned and glared at Iseult who was more than a little annoyed. She clicked her tongue, sighed, and turned to pick his shirt up from off the chair and held it out in front of her for him to take. He took it an put it on, then stood up straight and gave Iseult an apologetic look before turning, walking across the room and opening the door.

Guinevere stood a little back from the door but Lancelot still had to squeeze past her. She looked up at him with the same sort of wondering look she had used on him when she had first been rescued nearly 10 months ago. Lancelot quickly looked away and stormed off into the shadows. Guinevere watched him walk off and looked back to see Iseult staring at her, clearly clocking on to the gaze she had given Lancelot. The two girls had had little reason to talk to each other, and they weren't about to start now. Iseult gave Guinevere a withering look and slowly shut the door in her face. Guinevere smiled an walked off with a triumphant air.


	3. Chapter Two

_Thank-you to everyone who has reviewed this story, it is much appreciated. Don't be too optimistic about the characters, though. I have written the next two chapters, it's just writing them up that's the 'fun' part! Anyhow, enjoy the next one. Who knows, I might get on a roll and type the next two up in one go. _

_P.S. Please, please, can you possible review Chance is a Fine Thing as well, as it is the prequel and I am very proud of it. _

Chapter 2: The Fates have fun, and ruin lives in the process

Iseult was incensed. They needed her to go along with them. She knew more of the people, the customs, and the dialects. More than her brother, and certainly more than Guinevere. But no-one would listen to her. When she had heard- via one of the serving-girls- that the knights, Arthur, Guinevere and Gwillam were heading south to try and sort out a dispute between two powerful tribes, she had insisted that she join them. But she was a mother now, Arthur said, and she must stay. Iseult could not believe it. She confronted Arthur the morning before their departure.

"Why, in the name of the Gods, did you order that…wet nurse, if not for me to help you here?" Arthur, no answer to hand , ignored her and strolled past, Guinevere at his heels like one of those bloody lap-dogs the rich Romans used to carry round with them. Oh, she could see this one from miles off. Guinevere could pull the sheepskin over Arthur's eyes like that. The last week had seen Guinevere giving Lancelot mournful stares, full of meaning, when Arthur was looking in the opposite direction. Lancelot had been ignoring her, giving her confused frowns and such. Iseult had been giving Guinevere stares full of meaning back, and had kept him as close to her as she could. Now, with Iseult left behind, she'd begin reeling him in, no problem. Iseult loved Lancelot, but she had no doubt that he'd forget all about her once he was looking deep into Guinevere's eyes.

Iseult flung her hands into the air in exasperation.

"You have a child, and suddenly you're ignored." Still no-one answered her. She looked over at Lancelot, who looked rather sullen and was trying not to make eye-contact with her. Clearly he had tried and failed on this one with his friend. Iseult turned and ran in front of Arthur, looking up into his dark, emotionless eyes, trying to look past the barrier he had there permanently.

"I'm…not…happy," she told him very quietly. Arthur looked at her in silence for a moment. He knew what he was about to say to her would cause more trouble than it was worth, but for reasons only he and Iseult knew about. However, he needed her here, even if …but it wouldn't, he was sure.

"Tristan has injured himself," he told her. Iseult's immediate reaction was to say 'Bollocks' in Iceni under her breath. Guinevere raised her eyebrows. Well, thought Iseult, noticing her, perhaps she knows a little _slang_ after all.

"How does that affect me?" she continued in Latin. Arthur paused, and then carried on.

"It affects you in that I trust you. I trust you to look after this fort. You were born a leader after all. Tristan is bedridden under the shaman's orders and I need someone visible to keep order round here. You can do it, so I am ordering you to do it, for me," he finished. Iseult half-closed her eyes in thought. She took a step closer and half-whispered to him.

"I advise you never to order a Queen to do anything again, _King Arthur._" Arthur was about to speak, but Iseult cut in front of him. "You know I'll do it. It's the least I can do." The next part was whispered so that only Arthur could hear. "You know what you are doing, though, don't you? Leaving Tristan here can only mean trouble." Arthur sighed and frowned.

"You and Lancelot love each other, though. Tristan-"

"-Tristan has more power over me than I care to let on to anyone, even myself. Just remember what I said that night…A different way, Arthur. I think Tristan knows, too." She stepped back and smiled, so as not to draw to much unwanted attention from the others. She could see Guinevere making eyes at Lancelot behind her as they all walked along. "And Arthur? Keep an eye on Lancelot, will you? I'm a pessimist and…We aren't married and…I've seen things that make me feel that…just watch him, please." And with that she paced off.

"May the Gods be with you, and bring you back safely!" she called as an afterthought as her form disappeared into the shadows of the fortress. Lancelot looked on, a frown on his face. He considered going after her, just to get away from Guinevere, but he knew that Iseult was best left alone with her anger. A temper like that in a woman of her stature (she was a good deal taller than Guinevere, though shorter than Lancelot by a good amount, and Arthur still towered over her) could be fairly brutal, especially if there was an moveable furniture about, so he left it.

The next morning, Iseult watched the party leave. Arthur in front, then Lancelot, then Guinevere, for once actually on a horse, then the others; her brother riding alongside Galahad. Behind Iseult the various parts of a chair lay scattered after their impact with the wall. The next few weeks were going to be interesting, very interesting indeed.


	4. Chapter Three: Where Loyalties Lie

Chapter 3: Where Loyalties lie, and where they don't

Travelling to this place had been difficult. Negotiating with these tribes people was even harder. Arthur regretted not bringing Iseult with him; now he no longer knew if she would ever do as he asked again after that incident. He had forgotten, somehow, with everything that had happened that she was the rightful leader of a powerful tribe hated by the Roman legions; a tribe that had spawned the Queen that had almost brought down Roman rule in Britain. Insulting her like that; having to accept an order from him, was clearly something he would have to grovel about later. But Arthur was worried for her. He had left her at the fort with the only other man who could control her. Actually, could Lancelot control her? Arthur thought not. What had happened between Iseult and Tristan had plagued Arthur. He was a good enough mathematician to work out dates, and the days between Lancelot and Tristan bedding Iseult had been few; few enough for the parentage of that child to be uncertain. How Arthur wished he could tell his closest friend of what was going on right beneath his nose. But that was down to Iseult. He would not break the…connection between them. Relationships and love are precious, and I will not destroy either, he told himself.

Another thought loomed over Arthur's head. Iseult's request. She had asked him to watch over Lancelot, and make sure he didn't get involved with anyone. What 'things' had she seen that made her unhopeful that he would stay faithful to her? Arthur did not want to answer this question, yet he had a good idea who Iseult had been talking about. Guinevere. Arthur knew that the night he had met Merlin, Guinevere had talked to Lancelot, and had effectively made her decision as to who she should marry. Lancelot was, obviously, uninterested in a united Britain. Guinevere was good at making deals that would secure her tribes future; that would secure Britain's future. Arthur cared about what would happen to Britain without Roman rule. But Guinevere trying to become involved with Lancelot now? That was unthinkable. But Iseult was observant. The least he could do was to fulfil Iseult's request, and watch Lancelot.

Arthur was sitting in a hut with Guinevere, poring over papers smuggled in from home, telling of how troops from all far-reaching outposts were now mostly back in Italy, and now an order was being sent out for troops from other areas in the kingdom to return. Arthur realised with a certain horror that he was gradually being cut off from all contact with half of his bloodline. Not his home, his home had always been Britain.

Guinevere, at the door of the hut, was looking out over the village. She had finally managed to calm them down, after she had mistranslated a word into their dialect and almost cost them the two weeks they had already spent there. Her brain was racked with trying to calm these people down. With the Romans gone, tribes were railing against each other like never before. Guinevere hated to think it, but there had been more order when the Romans ruled over this land. It took a few seconds longer to realise that a figure was crossing the main yard. It disappeared into the shadows for a few seconds. Guinevere wondered then if it might be Tristan, but once the figure had come out of the shadow of a hut and started striding into the woodland, she realised who it was. She recognised the stride, the dark leather shirt and dark curls on his head. Lancelot. She glanced at Arthur poring over the papers and moved over to him, her hands on his shoulders.

"I'm going for a walk," she said quietly. Arthur nodded without really noticing what she had said. Guinevere gave him a momentary sad look before exiting the hut without a sound and gliding into the trees after Lancelot. Minutes later, Arthur looked at the fabric covered opening to the hut as it moved a little in the night breeze. Somewhere inside him, a small alarm went off. A young girl's voice seemed to mutter in his mind, trying to remind him to…Arthur turned back to his papers, and the breeze stilled around the hut, changing course and moving towards the trees…

Lancelot was enveloped in his own thoughts, trudging through the forest. The moon had just appeared from behind a cloud, lighting up the yew and oak and the dead leaves on the ground. Lancelot paused for a moment to stare at it. He had a faint memory of it being larger and clearer at home. He still wanted to see his homeland again. He had thought that he would die on this wretched island, where it never seemed to stop raining, but then he had rescued Iseult and she had willingly risked her life to protect him. Now he felt the call of his homeland, tugging at him, pulling. Lancelot sighed and closed his eyes, a slight smile on his face. He felt the carved necklace his sister had given him, and her face flashed before him in his mind, He could only really remember her eyes now, and that hat his mother used to make her wear. Her eyes, piercing and bright, like crystal. His mind turned to Iseult, and he tried to remember the paleness of her skin, the blue of her eyes, the feel of her beneath him. The last night they had spent together, two days before the party had left. That had been perfect. A night with no interruptions, just the two of them. A wind blew through the wood, and Lancelot tipped his head to feel it ruffle through his hair. It was coming from the East. Lancelot fancied he could hear the songs his mother used to sing to him and his siblings floating on the air.

Suddenly, an almost inaudible snap of a dry twig brought Lancelot back to his senses. He opened his eyes and turned, looking in the direction of the noise. Guinevere walked towards him. Lancelot stood still.

"Were you thinking of home?" she asked, standing as still as Lancelot. The wind turned suddenly and rushed towards Guinevere, making the leaves rush in a wave around her. The wind seemed to be screaming, Lancelot observed. Guinevere simply looked up and smiled slightly, then whispered something, the wind died away almost instantly.

Miles away, Iseult woke suddenly in her bed, and cried out for no apparent reason.

"What are you doing here, Guinevere? I'm sure Arthur-"

"Arthur is reading about the imminent fall of Rome, Lancelot, he doesn't need me to help him do that." Lancelot wanted to walk away from her, but he was intrigued, intrigued as he always was about her.

"So," Guinevere continued after a moment's silence, when only an owl hooted, alone. "You have a son. I seem to remember you telling me you didn't have a right to any." Lancelot frowned.

"You can't plan these things." Guinevere smiled and walked closer.

"No, I suppose not," she said smoothly. Lancelot realised what she was getting at by being here and managed to step backwards before she could get any closer.

"No," he said firmly. "You are Arthur's wife."

"And?" Guinevere asked. Lancelot stared, disbelieving. "I married Arthur because it gave my people a leader; it joined the two nations."

"You did it for power," said Lancelot, nodding and angry. He had suspected this deep in his heart. Guinevere remained passive. She was unnervingly like Arthur in that. Then she unfroze and walked over to him. Lancelot was now completely under her spell. She looked up at him with doe-like eyes.

"I tried to make you see my way of things, Lancelot," she said quietly." But…I wasn't able to bring you round to my way of thinking. You're too passionate. Arthur…Arthur thinks more than you do. I just wish I could put your passion to better use." She kissed his cheek, then his lips, then looked deep into his eyes. Lancelot looked back. He couldn't help it; this was him, being like this. He kissed Guinevere. His hands ran over her body as he kissed her. Something inside him began to cry out, but it was unheard against the blood rushing in his ears. Guinevere's dress began to come off-by her hand, Lancelot realised- but as soon as his hand touched her skin he jerked back, breaking contact. His lips left Guinevere's and he took a few drunken steps back. He stared at Guinevere as though she had burned him. After a moment he raised a hand and shook it at her.

"I said no," he told her hoarsely, then strode off into the night. Guinevere stared after him and glared into the night. The breeze rose again and seemed to chuckle, throwing a few leaves up into her face before leaving. Guinevere turned and walked back through the woods and into the village. As she approached she saw Arthur's form standing in the doorway, waiting for her return. He watched her as she approached. Guinevere paused for a second by Arthur. He turned a little and then did up the last button on the front of her dress. Guinevere suppressed a blush, frowning instead, and walked calmly inside. Arthur turned again and looked a little longer at the woods, then whispered something too quiet for Guinevere to hear.

"I'm sorry Iseult; I forgot my promise to you. But nothing happened, I'm sure of it. And I will watch better from now on. I will watch both of them."


	5. Chapter Four: The Ruins of Deceit

Chapter Four: The Ruins of Deceit

Iseult stood on the wall overlooking the new-frosted grass of the open plain beyond the stones ad mortar. It was the first truly bad frost heralding the arrival of winter. Iseult looked out with an impassive gaze, only her eyes and some of her hair visible underneath the large bear fur she had wrapped round her.

A young soldier, recruited from on of the villages dotting the area, ran up the steps to deliver a message to her. He reached her and took a few deep breaths while her attention was elsewhere before interrupting her thoughts. She inclined her head slightly towards him with a small smile to show she was listening.

"Apologies for interrupting you, my lady, but Sir Tristan requests your presence in his room this morning instead of the hall." Iseult raised an eyebrow and fixed the boy with a distrustful stare; she trusted the boy, but not Tristan. The boy stuttered for a moment. "I…erm…Sir Tristan's leg is particularly painful this morning, my lady. It inhibits him from walking too far." Iseult looked back out at the frozen grass and thought for a moment. It wouldn't cause any trouble to meet Tristan in his rooms; just some more gossip amongst the soldiers and maids. She conceded, turned and smiled at the boy. He gave a nervous smile back.

"Go and tell him I will meet him in his room," she told him in his native tongue. The boy beamed for a moment then realised his place and nodded curtly and ran off again. Half-way across the courtyard he stopped and looked back at her; a tall, dark figure standing prominent against a wall of pale yellow stone. She seemed so much older than him, yet he knew that he was a good few years older than her. Her request snapped back into his head and he ran off again.

Iseult knocked lightly on the door to Tristan's chamber. His voice called out,

"Come in." Iseult opened the door and walked in quietly, expecting to see Tristan resting on the bed. Not so. Instead, he was standing pouring out wine into two wooden mugs stood on a table next to the fireplace.

"You're up!" she asked, shocked. Her eyes lingered a little too long on the bed, memories flooding her head, before she looked back at Tristan. He had noticed that, and he looked her up and down. Iseult raised her eyebrow in disgust.

"I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, Tristan. I'm not a cow at market, and I'm self-conscious enough as it is," and she brushed the front of her dress over her stomach. Being stuck inside the confines of the fort not being allowed to ride out or train had made her value the flatter stomach she'd had before she became pregnant. Tristan looked a little hurt.

"I never look at you like that. You know how I feel about you; you're…" Iseult waved her hand, not wanting the conversation to carry on like this. She walked over to the table, more so that she didn't have the bed in her peripheral vision than wanting to be closer to Tristan.

"You did call me here for a valid reason, didn't you?" she asked. "Why _are_ you pouring drinks?"

"Well, we have reason to celebrate; the talks have been successful. Arthur now has the full allegiance of both the tribes concerned and has resolved the argument between them. The party will be returning in about a week. A messenger arrived this morning telling me so. So…you will have your beloved Lancelot back and I will no longer have to run this infernal fort," he added, measuring Iseult's reaction. She equalled his stare will a perfect blankness, then her expression changed and she looked deep into Tristan's eyes with a doleful stare.

"I wish you wouldn't talk about him like that; he's your friend, Tristan. Don't make me the reason you decide to hate him." Tristan looked back at her with a sour expression.

"He took you away from me. He thinks the child is his."

"And as far as either of us knows it is his." She shook her head and groaned slightly as she looked away from Tristan for a moment. Tristan felt a stirring inside him as she made that sound. "I sometimes wish I had never had him. I think it would have made things easier between us all." She smiled at Tristan's slightly shocked face. "Of course," she answered. "A mother should never say such things, should she? And I do love him, of course I do. He's my life…But…" She took a sharp breath. "What happened between us was an accident. If I had known that you and the other Knights were going to stay then I would never have slept with you. It would never have happened." Tristan stayed quiet for a moment and stared her out.

"You know that isn't true," he told her. Silence for a beat.

"Yes it is." Tristan grabbed her round the waist and pulled her into a kiss. Iseult relaxed, tensed, relaxed, then tensed again and pulled away.

"Fine," she said. "You're right…this once," she finished quickly. "We'll see them in a week, then," she added as she walked out of the room, leaving strange and confusing emotions in her wake.

A week later, as told by the messenger, the horses and their riders trotted slowly through the gates of the fort. The party dismounted and were greeted by women, children and workers who began to stare in awe, laugh, and question them…if the were brave enough. About five minutes after their arrival, Tristan and Iseult finally reached the group after much pushing and shoving and made their way towards Arthur to report.

"I hear you…_finally_ succeeded?" Iseult inquired, meaning loaded behind the question. A wry smile crossed her face. Arthur had to smile as well, however brief, but it was a weary one. Iseult registered it and felt a little bad for commenting.

"I take it there was no trouble while I was gone?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing either of us couldn't handle," Tristan told him. Iseult scanned the crowd.

"Where's Lancelot?" she asked. Gawain answered her.

"He went outside the wall when the crowds began to gather." Iseult nodded her gratitude, then began sliding her way between the people with surprising elegance. Tristan looked from the corner of his eye and then continued his conversation with the other knights.

Guinevere had cornered Lancelot by one of the jutting out towers in the wall structure.

"Guinevere, I want to forget about it, it was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Guinevere echoed. "How can what happened be a mistake?"

"I never meant for that to happen. I am supposed to be faithful to Iseult!" Lancelot said loudly.

"Why? What for? You're never going to marry her, are you?" Guinevere argued. Lancelot stared, then turned the argument around.

"And what about Arthur? I have betrayed my best friend and I don't think I will _ever_ be able to look him in the face again."

"Do you feel anything for me?" Guinevere asked. Lancelot gave a minute pause before replying, "No."

"Then kiss me." Guinevere said. Lancelot frowned, aghast. In that moment of horror, Guinevere pulled his face towards her and kissed him, and Lancelot found himself falling into that mire of her spell again. Eventually, his mind pulled free, and he pulled himself away and looked up. It was too late. Iseult stared at him from behind eyes welling up with tears. She seemed to mouth, "How could you?" before walking away and leaving the two potential lovers alone with their consciences.


	6. Chapter Five: Can't Go Back

Chapter 5- Can't Go Back

Guinevere pursed her lips in thought as Lancelot rushed past her after Iseult. He caught up with her just before she walked back through the gate. He grabbed her by that arm as she strode along.

"Iseult, please," he pleaded, trying to pull her towards him.

"Let go you bastard," she said, roughly pulling her arm out of his grip and carried on walking. Lancelot grabbed her again and Iseult used the momentum to slap him hard across the face. Lancelot reeled slightly, letting go, but Iseult stayed to watch the effect her slap had had with some satisfaction. Lancelot clicked his jaw in silence and looked back at Iseult, who was fuming with anger.

"I deserved that," he said quietly.

"And? You deserve a lot more than that you son-of-a-bitch."

"Iseult, I never meant-"

"No! No! Don't you dare! I saw you! I'm not blind. I knew you'd never be able to keep your eyes from wandering. But I believed and trusted you, Lancelot. I-" she stopped mid-sentence, suppressing a sob, refusing to cry. She flung a hand to her mouth, managing to compose herself.

"Don't follow me, Lancelot, if you value your friendship with Arthur. I'm sure he doesn't know…yet," and she turned away, walking through the gates, back through the increasing crowds. Lancelot stood, shocked. She had reacted so badly, so violently. Of course, she wasn't going to react well to seeing Guinevere kissing him. He decided to wait for a few minutes until he could slip back in amongst the crowds. He heard Guinevere walking up behind him and swung round.

"Don't come near me, Guinevere. You may have ruined more than one relationship through what you just did. I don't know how I'm supposed to repair this mess." Guinevere looked away blankly and didn't come any closer. Satisfied, Lancelot turned and began to walk back into the fortress courtyard.

Meanwhile, Iseult had managed to push her way through to the centre of the crowd (actually, after people realised who she was, it wasn't so much of a chore, they parted easily) until she reached her brother.

"Gwillam?" Her brother turned and embraced her enthusiastically.

"Iseult, I missed you. How are you? You look unwell. Have you been crying?"

"No, no. I'm fine." she paused. Did she really want to do this? Yes, she had to.

"Gwillam, I want to come back home with you." Gwillam gaped at her, disbelieving.

"You mean it?" Iseult nodded. Gwillam's face lit up and he grabbed Iseult, hugging her again.

"Everyone will be so glad to see you again." Behind him, the knights frowned in thought and looked at each other. Iseult looked away, wishing she'd told her brother somewhere more private. She really wasn't thinking straight recently. Gwillam let go suddenly and looked at his sister searchingly.

"But…what about Lancelot." Iseult stiffened slightly, and felt the other knights eyes fixed on her.

"There's nothing to say about him," she said in a lowered voice. "Lancelot is staying here, and I'm coming home. Unless you have a problem with that?" Gwillam registered the warning tone in her voice, nodded, and left it. "We'll leave in a few days, then?" she said. Gwillam nodded again. Iseult could see that he was about to ask more questions, and she didn't want to be questioned when she wanted to work out a few things for herself. "I'll be in my room. I feel a little unwell," and with that she made her way out of the crowd and into the barracks. In the crowd, Tristan watched her go and frowned.

"Why would Lancelot let her go?" Galahad asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem like him. And after all the trouble he went through to get her back," Gawain observed.

"It's not like he's ever said he wants to marry her, either. But then, I'm not married to Vanora, so…" Bors shrugged, the conversation was clearly over for him. Tristan decided it would be best to see Iseult at night, after everyone had gone to bed. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Lancelot slip through the crowd and go into the barracks after Iseult. A minute later, Guinevere appeared and slid herself in next to Arthur, squeezing his arm momentarily.

"Perfectly done, perfectly done," Tristan murmured.

Iseult hid behind a wall in the shadows and watched as Lancelot opened the door to where Bebhinn and her son were. She heard a muffled conversation, with Lancelot obviously asking where she was, to which he got a reply in the negative. Frustrated, Lancelot stormed down the corridor past Iseult, clearly going to search every room in the place until he found her. Iseult decided that it would be best to stay where she was for a while until she was sure he wasn't in this part of the building anymore. After a while, she felt it was safe to move; also, she couldn't feel her feet anymore, she's been standing there so long. She started towards her rooms, but then reconsidered, turning on her heel and walking down the nearest, darkest corridor. She suddenly began crying for no reason. She could hardly see where she was going; the tears blurred her vision so much, so it was hardly a surprise when she collided with something. But as she took a step back and wiped her eyes, she realised that that something was human. She looked up into the face of Arthur, who stared solemnly back at her. Iseult was about to speak when she heard footsteps behind her. Arthur looked up and Iseult turned round, then took 3 steps back and collided again as Lancelot jogged and slowed as he approached them. Iseult looked back up at Arthur, about to challenge him for not letting her pass (the look in her eye, Arthur thought, only her and Lancelot would stare and challenge in that manner) but Arthur spoke first.

"I think we need to speak together; all three of us,"

"I don't want to be in the same country as him," Iseult snapped, pointing at Lancelot. Arthur replied sternly.

"I hardly think you are entirely free of guilt, Iseult. You have your own secrets that I think you should divulge soon enough." Iseult felt Lancelot's questioning form burn into her skull. The only sign of emotion was her slightly reddening cheeks; her eyes stared into Arthur's eyes, but were lifeless and cold.

"Follow me," Arthur said, and turned, striding into the hall and shutting the door behind Iseult and Lancelot as they entered. Lancelot immediately started.

"What's Arthur talking about, Iseult? Secrets? What have you been hiding from me?" he asked, turning er round to face him. Iseult was limp in his arms, realising that she would have to come clean about everything now. She shook her head and looked at Arthur.

"Why did you have to do this?" she asked. "Why couldn't you just let me slip away quietly?"

"Because I couldn't bear to see him become upset at losing you again, and it isn't right that he should feel obliged to stay faithful when-"

"Alright! Shut up!" Iseult cried, and both men stared at her. Iseult stared back for a minute, momentarily stunned by her own response, then she took a deep sigh to compose herself, and nodded.

"Fine," she said. "Fine, if that's the way that it's got to be done, then…" She put some distance between herself and Lancelot and then told him. "I've slept with Tristan." Lancelot's eyes glazed over, trying to take it in. He broke her gaze and looked at the ground, taking a few deep breaths before trusting himself to look at her again without doing something he'd regret. She was standing stock still; trying to read his face, her eyes completely dead, though she felt like a huge weight had been lifted, though she knew she still had to tell him everything.

Lancelot spoke.

"Why?" he asked, incredulous. "When?" And then he turned to Arthur, who was standing close to the door in case Iseult tried to run off…again. "And you knew about this?" Lancelot asked him. Arthur gave a slow nod and looked at Iseult who was now sitting in one of the chairs placed around the Round Table, her head in her hand, realising that her life was truly falling apart at the seams. Lancelot looked back at Iseult and made towards her, but she stopped him.

"Lancelot, don't. I haven't told you everything yet, and you deserve to know before you do…whatever you're going to do. I slept with Tristan…the night before the battle with the Saxon army." Now Lancelot leant on the table, trying to take in what that meant.

"So…" Lancelot began. Iseult gave a few quick nods and whispered.

"I have no idea who the father of my son is." She thought for a second, and then looked up at Lancelot desperately. "Though I wish to the Gods that he is yours." Lancelot snorted. Iseult continued. "Why did I do it? I didn't know that any of the knights were going to stay. You and I had argued, and I thought that that was the last I was going to see of you. I never intended it to happen and I never thought it would do any harm then, but you stayed and then I found out I was pregnant…I…I could only be sure of your feelings towards me. And remember, I did try and leave you alone when I ran away, but you came after me, Tristan didn't so… I thought I would be able to keep it from you." There she ended, and could not bear to look up at him, the feelings of shame and apprehension so great.

Lancelot stood, both arms square on the table, eyes shut, secretly preventing tears from falling as he realised that the woman he had fallen in love with had betrayed him with one of his friends.

"You couldn't even tell me," he growled.

"Lancelot, she as a perfectly good legitimate reason." Arthur said to him. Lancelot turned and yelled at him.

"Do not presume to tell me how I should react, Arthur!"

"Well, you haven't exactly been completely faithful to me, have you, Lancelot?" Iseult began, angry at both men and speaking without really thinking. "Unless my eye deceived me, did I or didn't I just see you kissing Arthur's wife?" She snapped. Lancelot froze as Arthur's face darkened.


	7. Chapter Six: The Parting of Enemies

OK people, this chapter is pretty…well…crap, really. I've only just written it so at some point I will be re-writing it, but since I haven't posted anything for a while then I thought I should just post this chapter as soon as possible to keep your interest up! He he! Oh yes, and I have re-posted the story that comes before this –'Chance is a Fine Thing' up in separate chapters as it was all in one before so must have been pretty hard-going.

And a note- I think I have written it repeatedly (forgive me if I haven't made it clear enough) but Lancelot and Iseult are NOT married, and never have been so far. Now that's all over, on with the story.

Chapter 6: The Parting of Enemies

"What?" Arthur said slowly. Lancelot stood, rooted to the spot, staring into his friends eyes and hardly breathing. Iseult stood back, melting into the furniture. Arthur took a few steps forwards and then stopped, staring into Lancelot's eyes.

"What happened?" he asked Lancelot with a deadpan face, praying to his God that Lancelot would not betray him willingly; that he wouldn't sleep with his own wife when Arthur himself should have been keeping an eye on him for Iseult. Lancelot steeled himself.

"She…kissed me, and that's all. I never…She kissed me and that is all that happened, Arthur, you know I would never do anything to harm our friendship. I don't know what happened; I was talking to her in the forest and then…the next moment she was kissing me, and I sort of, woke, like I had been dreaming, and I stopped it from going any further."

"And just now?" Iseult whispered from the corner of the room. Lancelot glanced at her, then looked away; slightly sickened that he had to explain himself to her after what she had just admitted to. Iseult felt a part of her die when she saw the expression on his face.

"Now? She asked me to kiss her again to prove that I didn't lo…feel anything for her. Then that feeling came over me, like I had no control." Arthur's face lightened a little, glad that he had not been wrong about him. He stayed silent for a moment, both men staring at each other. Eventually, Arthur spoke.

"I believe you Lancelot, but you must understand that I am still angry with you, and it will take a while for me to fully forgive you. Iseult wanted me to watch you on this last journey, but I didn't keep true to my word, and now I share the consequence of my actions with her. Iseult, I failed you and…where is she?" Arthur asked, looking round the hall. It was empty. Arthur turned and realised that in stepping forwards, he had left the way open for the girl to get out. The door creaked a little as the breeze pushed its way through.

"Damn her," Arthur cursed, and pulled the door open and ran through into the empty corridor. Lancelot followed, if only out of loyalty to him, rather than wanting to prevent Iseult from leaving.

Iseult was in her rooms, throwing together what little she owned into a leather saddle-bag she kept under her bed. Bebhinn stood with the child in the corner, cautiously watching her.

"Madam, has something happened between you and the Sarmatian?" she asked. Iseult paused to smile briefly through hot, angry tears that she hadn't noticed falling; she'd been crying so much today.

"Which Sarmatian?" she sighed to herself. "Oh, so many things," she continued so that Bebhinn could hear her. "We both deceived each other from the day we met and so…and so it was bound to fall apart one day, I suppose." Bebhinn looked at the saddle-bag and then back at the girl.

"So you're leaving us?" Iseult nodded at her. "Madam, where are you going to go?" Iseult finished packing her bag and then looked up at her.

"Back to Iceni lands and my people. I have deserted them too long; me and my brother. We will return, and forget about Sarmatians, Sarmatia…even the words will be forgotten." She looked at Bebhinn and was about to ask her something when she heard running footsteps and Arthur and Lancelot burst through the door. Iseult turned and looked at them impassively.

"Oh, you noticed I'd gone, then? How kind of you to bother," she told them bitterly, turning and gently taking her son from Bebhinn's arms as he was beginning to make a fuss. "Hush, hush, it's alright," she whispered to him, smiling as he looked up at her and gurgled.

"Iseult, I forbid you to leave this fort." Arthur told her. Lancelot stayed quiet.

"Forbid? You forbid me to leave this fort? I think I have the right to do whatever I please, Arthur, since-because of certain people's…principles, for want of a better word- I belong to no-one. I belong to no-one except _my _child and the Iceni people."

"All the same. I forbid you," Arthur reiterated. Iseult stared silently at him, forcing herself to be quiet and not to speak back. Already she had a plan formed in those 10 minutes since she had decided she would be leaving, and no-one was about to stop her. She turned and sat on the edge of her bed.

"He has a name now. Do you wish to know it?" she asked Lancelot. He said nothing immediately. "Come, Lancelot, I know you can't bear the sight of me now, but you can at least answer 'yes' of 'no'."

"Yes," Lancelot answered to quickly.

"His name is Taron Phelan. Phelan means 'wolf' in the common tongue." She paused for a moment. "Arthur, you know by past experience that if I want to, I can leave this place. I will find a way.

"Then I will just have to make sure that you don't then," Arthur told her.

"Oh, a challenge. I wonder-how many men can you post to watch my door without having to tell them what's going on?" Arthur frowned, then turned, walked past his friend and then out the door. Lancelot stayed, and looked at Iseult with a scowl on his face. Iseult glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

"You meant it, did you? When you said you prayed that he was mine?" he said quietly, still eyeing her with suspicion and a certain element of disgust. Iseult's eyes flickered away for no more than a second before answering.

"Of course I did. What would be the point in lying to you now?" she sighed. Lancelot stared at her for a while, then spoke.

"I can forgive you, Iseult. We've both lied to each other, but now we can start again. There's still a chance that…Taron…is mine," he told her. Iseult shook her head.

"Lancelot, I'm leaving. I've caused so much havoc while I've been here. It would have been better if you had left me in that cell. Everything is too complicated now and it's getting out of hand. When I left before, you shouldn't have come to find me-then none of this would have happened. Goodbye Lancelot, and…I'm sorry." Lancelot didn't answer as he slowly and pointedly shut the door, leaving Iseult, Bebhinn and Taron alone in the room. Iseult turned to Bebhinn.

"We have a plan to sort out, you and I, and quickly." she told her.


	8. Chapter Seven: The Flight, the Lover

Chapter Seven: The flight, the lover, the loss

The door to Iseult's room opened and Bebhinn stood at the threshold wrapped in an overdress, two woollen shawls, a cloak, and a small saddle-bag. Two guards immediately blocked her way.

"Sir!" One of them called, and after a few seconds Arthur appeared as well.

"Where are you going, Bebhinn?" he asked. Bebhinn averted her eyes a little and didn't reply.

"You don't think that I am just going to let you leave, do you?" Arthur asked kindly. Bebhinn finally looked at Arthur.

"I…I'm just leaving, sir. I'm not doing anything. With respect, you are guarding Queen Iseult, not me."

"Yes, but you are under her bidding, you could be carrying _something _out of those rooms," Arthur replied quickly. Bebhinn tried to keep her face straight.

"Let her pass, Arthur, I am releasing her from any more duties; she is free to leave my service and return to her village. I don't wish her to become embroiled in my affairs," came Iseult's voice from inside the room amongst the shadows. Arthur tried to perceive her, but couldn't, so he spoke directly to the darkness.

"I'm sorry, but she will have to stay here along with you, Iseult. As I was just saying, she could have anything hidden under all those layers. Or something." A laugh issued from the shadows, soft and flowing.

"I understand. You think that she has Taron hidden under there?" Iseult asked, and she walked forwards so that she could be seen by the light of the corridor torches. The shadows flickered across her smiling face as she stood, holding Taron over her shoulder, wrapped in the blanket she had put round him when Arthur and Lancelot had last been in the room. Arthur seemed to blush a little, realising his mistake. Iseult flashed her eyes.

"So, can she go? Or are you going to think up some other excuse?"  
"No, she can go, or course she can." Iseult smiled in satisfaction as the guards and Arthur parted and Bebhinn walked through, taking one last look at her mistress before heading into the dark.

Iseult took one last look at Arthur, and then shut the door with one hand. She sighed, then smiled, and tossed the bundle in her arms onto her bed, where it fell apart, revealing an expertly rolled shirt to have been wrapped up in the blanket, and not Taron.

Outside, Bebhinn pulled out Taron from under her shawls and smiled as he gurgled up at her; clearly thinking this was all some wondrous game, and quickly made her way over to the stables to get a horse ready for Iseult.

At midnight, Iseult opened to door a crack to see the guards sleeping on their feet and Lancelot sitting against the wall on the other side, seemingly fast asleep, but she knew he would never be fully asleep. She shut the door and walked over to the fire she had stoked up, and from her dress pocket she pulled out a small Hessian bag, opened it, and poured some sweet-smelling powder into her hand. She mumbled some indiscernible words and then threw it over the fire, where it flashed purple and then sparks flew in small circles round it for a moment before disappearing. Iseult began to chant in another tongue that was known only to the few; namely priests, healers, and rulers of Briton. A tongue that her mother and Ion had taught her when she was much younger. The chant she used now was one to keep her hidden from those who wished to seek her; essentially, it was a chant for invisibility. As soon as she began, the words spilled out of her mouth as though she had only learned them a few days ago.

"Tatha ona nuis tesis,

Duoa muloc nuos matis,

Drec il missa mona miri,

Betha natish concarra obsida,

Mesh ma, mesh mi, deshae orou. Let the Gods of my people wish it and be with me."

She blinked a couple of times and took a sudden deep breath and looked round the room, then back at the fire. It had burned down very quickly and was now no more than a pile of red embers; a few flames licking up at her. Iseult smiled, satisfied that she had done her part, then she crossed the room and opened the door, slipping out. No-one outside so much as opened their eyes. She smiled in pity and joy at the guards as they slept on, and then turned to look at Lancelot. He too, was still unaware of her presence. She walked over to him then knelt in-front of him. She waved her hand across his eyes but he didn't stir. The Gods were with her on this night. The novelty fast wearing thing, she looked at Lancelot with new eyes, and felt a tear fall down her cheek. She hastily rubbed it away and then brushed Lancelot's cheek with the back of her hand, feeling his warm skin against hers for the last time. Finally, trusting the Gods to not let her down; she cupped his head in her hand and kissed his lips. He didn't move. She pulled away after a moment.

"I'm sorry, my darling. Forget me. Go home and forget me and find peace within yourself," And with that she was gone out of the corridor, running across the yard and up the stairs to the wall.

Iseult leaned over the wall, looking into the darkness, trying to see if Bebhinn was below waiting for her with Taron. She could hear nothing apart from the screech of an owl in the woods ahead. She breathed heavily into the night air, staring out, all senses attuned to her environment, so she nearly died of shock when a hand brushed along her shoulder and she leapt round, staring wildly into the darkness trying to see who it was.

"Who's there?" she whispered sharply. Still the dark showed her nothing, keeping its secret. Iseult took a step forward, still looking hard, and found that strong, lithe arms were wrapping themselves around her and pulling her towards the body of…Tristan. Iseult knew better than to make any more sound than was necessary, otherwise she would be found out by others, and her escape would fail utterly.

"Tristan…let…let me go…"she whispered urgently.

"You're not trying to leave, are you?"

"What do you think? I'm not intending to scale this wall for the good of my health, you know." Tristan had to chuckle a little at that. Iseult relaxed and tried to slide out of his grasp, but the knight was too quick and he had her held firmly to his body again within a second.

"I don't think so," he told her.

"Tristan, don't make me beg. I'm not going to."  
"Don't leave."

"Why shouldn't I?" Iseult hissed.

"Because…more than one person needs you here to survive."

"That," said Iseult, again trying to wriggle free. "Is complete and utter horse manure. No-one here needs me. The only thing that anyone here needs is my support for Arthur. I am Queen of a people I have not seen for over two years and who are miles to the south of here. I must return to them." Tristan smiled

"I thought you didn't want to lead your people; that you weren't worthy to be their leader. Iseult jutted her chin forwards a little in defiance.

"Arthur has proved to me that you don't have to be of pure blood to lead a people. And anyway, my brother is hardly leading them as it is." Tristan put one hand up to her face and stroked it.

"I...want you so much." Iseult froze, trying to make out Tristan's eyes, but she couldn't look at them properly. She smiled derisively.

"It's not as though you haven't been getting what you want from the barmaids. I'm not blind."

"Far from it," Tristan agreed. "But I was only going to them to try and satisfy myself when you would not give me anything."

"You took before."

"No, I didn't…You gave me that yourself. You could have left at any time, but you didn't. I don't take from anyone, Iseult," he told her, as his hand ran down her neck and no further. As he paused there, he told her, "I'm leaving…for Sarmatia." Iseult stared. Tristan continued. "I want to come with you before I leave; to travel with you until we reach the coast. I believe that your lands contain one of the fastest routes to the mainland?"

"Y…yes, they do. You can't be leaving?"

"I have no affinity with this place. I wish to forget about my life here. As Galahad has said many times before; ours was only a duty and it was fulfilled a long time ago. Arthur has others who can take my place as scout, and I am getting older; though I hate to admit it."

"No," Iseult protested. "Don't say such things, don't. I won't let you." And she buried her head in his neck. To leave Tristan here at the fort was tolerable, for him to return to Sarmatia, where Iseult would be sure never to see him again or know if he was dead or alive; that was like ripping a part of her very core away. She lifted her head and kissed him furiously.

"Yes. You must come. But not for a week, otherwise they will suspect."

"You mean Lancelot will know." Tristan mumbled with a hardened gaze, but then he immediately followed it with,

"Of course. I understand." and he kissed her back.

"Now; you must let me go, Tristan, before they find out I am gone from this place. Meet me in the villa that belonged to the family of Octavian Antonius in a fortnight. I will be waiting." And with that she scaled the wall and dropped silently onto the grass below. A horse snorted nearby, and Iseult ran over, taking one last look over her shoulder at the man standing on the wall watching her leave him once more before she leapt onto the horse, then took her son from Bebhinn. Iseult gave the woman a final kiss before turning and disappearing into the gloom. Tristan watched her leave until he could no longer feel her presence around him, then he turned as a night watchman started as he stumbled across Tristan, then mumbled a 'sorry, sir,' as he recognised him before moving on. Tristan smiled a brief smile in the darkness and walked away.

"Until then, my Queen,' he said.

Lancelot opened his as the light of the moon shone on his face as it lowered in the sky below the doorframe. He shifted the beginnings of sleep from his eyes by blinking a few times then looked towards the door he was guarding. He got to his feet in a moment when he saw that it was wide open. As he did so, the other men around him opened their eyes and got up. All stared in shock at the door, and the empty room inside. Lancelot ran out of the corridor, and onto the wall, slamming into it and staring out at the expanse of black.

Nearly everyone awoke as Lancelot's cries echoed throughout the whole fort; a man who barely showed any emotion except to his closest and dearest now broadcast his despair to anyone within earshot.

"ISEULT! ISEULT,COME BACK! ISEULT, PLEASE, COME BACK TO ME! I FORGIVE YOU. I NEED YOU! PLEASE, ISEULT!I LOVE YOU!"

Oh my God, I'm pathetic…I cried when I wrote this last bit. I'm an evil author…

Truly evil…


	9. Chapter Eight: Going Places Forgotten

Chapter 8: Going Places Forgotten

'Somewhere in my dreams

You still reside

You are not forgotten yet

Perhaps you will return again'

"Lancelot, come on, we need to leave," Bors shouted over to Lancelot. The knight waved his hand nonchalantly at him as he whispered something to one of the barmaids, who giggles in response and turned round. Lancelot slapped her on the bum and then turned towards the rest of the group on their horses, a dirty grin on his face. He leapt onto his horse then turned it sharply round to join them. On the ground, Guinevere stood by her husband and held his hand. Arthur gave her a smile back.

"We will be back in a month, all going to plan," he told her. Guinevere nodded and kissed his hand, then held up a young child with auburn hair and blue eyes who looked be about 4 years old.. Arthur smiled at the child.

"Be good for your mother, my daughter." The girl gave him a quick hug then was dropped down to the floor again. The group began to move out. Gawain, Galahad and Bors went first, then 3 new faces. The new scout, Barra; a tall boy with piercing light green eyes and hair as black as a ravens feather who wore a long grey tunic. Then came Doran, a young, dark-skinned Sarmatian who had joined Arthur and the knights when he was relieved of service when the Romans left Gaul; and Kerwyn, a man who was built like Dagonet, and had the same temperament. After them came Lancelot, who gave a wink and a smirk to Guinevere and her daughter.

"Look after your mother, little Seren," he said to her. Seren was oblivious to her mother's look as she beamed at Lancelot as he rode past. As soon as the party had passed through the gates, she ushered her child away indoors.

"Lancelot, don't you think you should stop messing around with all those barmaids-your ruining their reputations." Lancelot chuckled and leant over to pat Bors on the back as they rode along.

"Ah, Bors, you're growing soft in your old age. If those girls want to share my bed then that's their own business. I'm not one to refuse them." Bors rolled his eyes at Gawain who gave a snort and shook his head. In the six years since Iseult had left, Lancelot had become more of a womaniser and had slept with more or less every available, and sometimes unavailable woman in the area near the fortress. His actions had been concerning for the knights. It seemed that ever since the first major Saxon invasion, they had been growing further and further apart- a fact enhanced when Tristan left the fort a week after Iseult's mysterious disappearance. Disappearances that were mysterious most of all for the knights who knew nothing about what had been said between Arthur, Lancelot and Iseult all those years back. Lancelot had always had his suspicions about where he was, but as far as news from the continent went, Tristan had indeed reached Gaul as he intended and was now as far as anyone knew, in Sarmatia.

Arthur looked behind him at his friend, and how much older he looked. They all looked older. They were still fighters, but they were not the young, spirited fighters that they were so many years ago. Even Galahad, he youngest of all the original Sarmatians, had lines marking his face that belied his actual age. The journey in front of them was one to the tribes south of here, renewing old vows made to Arthur years ago and to gather an army ready for a battle he was sure that he would have to face once again with the Saxons. Arthur knew from past experience that when he crossed the border of Iceni land, he would be met by Gwillam and warriors from their extensive lands. He had not heard one word about Iseult in either of the two visits he had made South. She clearly liked to remain an enigma to all but the closest members of her community, and Gwillam was now too much grown to be influenced by Arthur- a man to whom Gwillam had been so much in awe of he would have told anything to him. Arthur turned back round in his saddle and sighed, letting the harsh winter winds rip round him. Six years since he had seen the Iceni Queen, six years since he had last seen his most reliable man and had lost his closest friend, though he was with him every day.

"We'll never return when we were supposed to, Arthur. The snow is set to fall in a matter of hours, even less. It will be heavy."

"How heavy?" Arthur asked Barra. The boy shook his head.

"Too deep even for the horses to be risking their lives for."

"Then we must make for shelter," Arthur ordered. Of all the times to be crossing the bleak, flatter stretches of land, where the nearest decent cover of trees was a good few miles away. As the fierce wind ripped round them and the sky turned bleaker and paler, they seemed to be advancing towards the trees at a piteously slow pace.

"I don't think we're going to get there, Arthur," Bors yelled over the top of the wind. Arthur turned in his saddle towards Bors.

"What is it, Bors?" Arthur asked. Bors was just about to reply when the first flakes of snow rushed past their faces.

"Damn…Keep moving!" Arthur yelled and spurned his horse on faster. The snowfall thickened faster and faster as time went on, and within minutes the knights could hardly see each other.

"Galahad, Gawain, where are you? I can't see a damn thing in this blizzard!" cried Lancelot, who, a few minutes ago, had been riding just behind them. Now, he found it difficult to even see the reins he was holding, never mind hear his friends. He thought he heard them to his left, and swung his horse round, but his mount was becoming understandably distressed and swung against his command. Lancelot gave him a sharp kick in his flanks and suddenly the horse shot forwards, causing Lancelot to be thrown off his saddle into the snow. He got up immediately and flung himself after his horse, but the scared animal flung his head away from his master and then the reins were out of reach as the horse ran into the snow

The snow closed in drifts round Lancelot. Everywhere he turned all he could see was stark, blank white. He turned again and thought he saw a figure ahead of him, but as he struggled forwards he fell face-first into the snow. As he struggled to his knees a fresh wave of flakes shot towards him, blasting his face and hands as he raised them to protect his vision, stinging them. He swung his arm to the right and hit a mound of snow. It was drifting. Now Lancelot began to panic. Dazed by the white all around him he fell back into the drift and lay there, stunned, unable to move, knowing that in just a few minutes he could be covered in snow and die that very day. But day was rapidly turning to night.

Just then, as Lancelot was giving up ever escaping, he thought he saw a large dog or wolf appear briefly in front of him, then disappear. A few moments later, or it could have been longer, Lancelot didn't know any more; he thought he could hear voices amid the screams of the wind. He closed his eyes and listened, hard. There. Someone shouting something into the wind in…in…it must be a dialect, thought Lancelot. Damn these Britons, if only they would all speak the common tongue rather than having these idiotic sub-languages. He decided to call out in the common Briton tongue instead of Latin, a dying language and one that may cause offence if spoken to the wrong person.

"Help me! I can't see a thing and I…can't move in the…snow!" He wished he knew more than just 'snow'. There was silence for a few minutes, then someone called out to him, and they sounded a little closer.

"We're trying to find you, but we must follow your voice to find you. Keep shouting for us, will you?" Lancelot began to shout at regular intervals, but he felt his strength being sapped by the snow and it was becoming hard to keep his focus in the real world and stay conscious. He closed his eyes for a moment, then flashed them open again, only for them to slowly close again. When he next flashed them open, he saw a tall, hooded and cloaked figure stride towards him through the snowfall, seeming to cut it in sections as it advanced towards him finding the snow little trouble. Through his now blurred eyesight, Lancelot could see that the form was a native, wearing a thick band of twisted silver and bronze round its neck, distinguishing it so. The form stopped in front of Lancelot and seemed to become a statue for a moment. From behind it, two more fur-clad figures appeared and rushed towards Lancelot, dragging him up to his feet then taking either his shoulders or his feet as Lancelot fell into unconsciousness, the necklace the last thing he remembered as he passed the statue.

Lancelot's head swam. He tried opening his eyes but the stung and all he could see was vague colour and spots of flashing light everywhere. He lay his head back into the piled-up rugs elevating his head and closed his eyes, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. He groaned, then heard footsteps and a cooling hand was placed on his head. A few tuts, some mutterings, then the blankets were pulled up close round his neck. He tried to stay awake but found that he was already falling into a deep sleep. He spent the next few weeks coming in and out of consciousness and a few times (though he couldn't be sure) he had a few spoonfuls of some hot, thick liquid forced into his mouth that had been very salty for Lancelot's taste.

After nearly 3 weeks of fever, Lancelot awoke to hear a hushed conversation being in his vicinity. He strained to hear any words he possibly knew, but his head was still a little groggy and the most he could think of was Latin and a very limited amount of Briton common tongue. He began to crack open his eyes but the bright mid-afternoon sunshine was too much for him to immediately open his eyes and try to focus on anything. The conversation was getting more heated now; the two voices were a man and a woman. The man was getting angrier than the woman, but must have said something to offend because the ext word to come from her lips was,

"Gwill!" then some more hushed words that seemed like a reprimand. Lancelot trusted his voice not to crack, so spoke.

"Where am I? My eyes hurt still, I can't open them yet. Who…who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Lancelot heard someone clomp out of the tent then a cool, soft hand lay briefly on his cheek and the woman's voice spoke to him.

"Ssh, you are safe. We rescued you 3 weeks ago from the snowstorm." Lancelot was frustrated that his questions had been left unanswered.

"You can't see because the snow partly blinded you and you haven't used your eyes since then. You should become accustomed to the light in a few minutes, then…" Here the voice broke off and the cool hand on his face trembled and pulled away. It was quickly replaced by a cold cloth held by a firmer hand that dabbed all over his face.

"Alright, alright, leave it to me," the woman said. Lancelot began opening his eyes a little, and this time it did not sting. He began the process of opening them little by little. The woman repeated the command in a different tongue. Lancelot could make out her outline now, and the thick necklace she wore. She sat on the bed and dabbed his head, then his neck, then his chest with the cloth, slowing, then replacing the cloth back in a bowl on the floor.

"I forget to switch languages, sometimes," she said. "You are Sarmatian, are you not? One of the knights that fought in the battle at Badon Hill I seem to remember?"

"I am, ma'am," Lancelot replied. The woman seemed to smile.

"Well, where did you get such compliments from, I wonder? I do not need to be called any such name by you. Now, if your appearance is anything to go by, I would say you are the close friend of the King."

"Many could be said to be a close friend of King Arthur madam."

"This is true. But, I believe you to be the knight named…Lancelot, am I right?"

"You are."

"Ah, the King who is half-Roman." Here, the woman did something very strange. She began to speak in a language that Lancelot barely heard spoken nowadays. It was Latin. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. A Briton that actively spoke the language of a people that had oppressed their land for centuries. Lancelot's senses were immediately fastened on this woman.

"Oh, my dear Lancelot. You would find out sooner or later, I know. I hope you do not still bear a grudge against me. I think back upon my days spent amongst you and the other knights with more than a little regret; regret that I was stupid enough to cause all the havoc that I did and, and regret that I did not cherish what I had with you. I am truly sorry for any pain I caused you, Lancelot." After this speech, Lancelot's head suddenly cleared, and he shot up in bed, causing the woman to leap up and take a few steps back.

"Please, don't," Lancelot shouted out. The woman paused, but she looked as though she would spring away from him at any moment. Lancelot took a few steps towards her, studying her face. Her hair was tied up loosely, with light ash-blonde curls falling round her face. Lancelot stared into her eyes, Ice-blue eyes that looked deep into his soul and rekindled something that had lain asleep for six years.

"Is it…is it really you?" he asked. The eyes flashed in brilliant defiance at him and Lancelot knew. "Iseult, it is you. I can hardly believe, but it is. Iseult…"

Ok, guys, just to tell you that I'm updating this very soon, but I've had A-levels to consider over the past few months and obviously they take priority! I've written the next chapter up in my limited spare time but I've had a bit of writer's block, so any suggestions for what happens next will be gratefully received. Thanks for your patience, hope you like the next bit!


	10. Chapter Nine: I Find it Hard

Chapter 9: I Find it Hard

The woman leapt up and took a few steps back.

"Please, don't!" Lancelot begged. The woman paused, but seemed as though she would spring at any moment away from him. "It is…it is you, isn't it?" The woman muttered under her breath in her own tongue, but Lancelot managed to understand her.

"Stupid, that was so stupid…why did I do that?" As the two stood facing each other, Lancelot took the time to look at her properly, as his eyesight finally adjusted and cleared completely.

"You've grown up," he smiled at her. "You're more beautiful than ever, if that's possible." Iseult shook her head and frowned, though Lancelot thought he saw a flicker of a smile cross her lips."

"Ever the flatterer, Lancelot. Sit down, you're not strong enough to be standing so soon. You've been ill for weeks and straining yourself with any activity could set back your recovery by-"

"By the Gods, woman, I don't give a jot about my health," Lancelot cut in, and started to walk over to her. Iseult shot back nearer the door.

"I would advise not coming any nearer, Lancelot. My people do not know who you are, or of your connection to me, only that we were both at the fort 6 years ago. To touch me would…it would be ill-advised. I will call the woman back in to tend to you. This hut will be yours until you are recovered, then you will be sent on your way." She turned and moved the curtain covering the door aside. "Goodbye, Lancelot," she said, without emotion, and left the hut, the curtain swinging back in place.

"No!" Lancelot cried, rushing forward, but collapsing on the floor. His legs were weak from not moving for weeks. An older woman ran in with an old man who Lancelot vaguely remembered as Ion. As the woman easily lifted Lancelot back onto the bed, he called out again in the common tongue, so he would at least make some impact.

"Iseult, you can't do this to me again. I kept my promise to you, I never tried to find you . I can't let you walk out on me again. Iseult, what about-"

"Enough!" Ion cried, and with that word Lancelot felt himself falling into a peaceful sleep that he couldn't fight against.

Iseult stood outside the door of the hut as Ion and the woman rushed in and listened to Lancelot's words. She felt herself stiffen, not wanting any emotion to show through to her people, who were gathering near the hut, intrigued by this newcomer. She looked into the eyes of her brother, and he understood in the short moment that their eyes were locked what she was feeling. She pushed away from the wall and walked over to him. As she did so, she glanced at all the worried faces.

"The sickness has not left him yet," she told them in as clear a voice as she could manage. Everyone smiled or nodded in understanding, a little disappointed that they could not see the newcomer yet. Iseult reached her brother and his wife.

"You shouldn't have gone in there," Gwillam told her. Iseult glared at him and saw out of the corner of her eye his wife Ciarda shrink back a little, shooting a wary look at her husband.

"I did what I though was right, Gwill, I'd prefer it if you didn't criticise me. I have enough to deal with as it is without _him_ around." She indicated back to the hut. A shout caused her to turn around and smile as through the crowds ran a young boy with a short wooden sword and thick, curly, dark brown hair and ice-blue eyes that were becoming a family trait. Iseult laughed as she picked up her son and brushed the hair from his eyes.

"Mama, Huw said that the great warrior has woken. Can I see him? Please?" Iseult's face fell.

"I'm sorry, my darling, he's still ill. Ion has put him back to sleep."

"But mama!"

"No 'buts'! You can see him when he's fit and well. You wouldn't want to see a great warrior like that lying on his back would you? And neither would he. Now go and practise with your sword so you can show him how good you are." She placed him back on the ground and watched briefly as Taron ran off with his friends to rejoin his teacher and continue practising with renewed vigour. She turned back to her brother to see a concerned look on his face.

"Are you really going to let him see the knight?" he asked his sister. She sighed.

"Of course not, but I'm not going to tell him that, am I? It would break his heart. But Lancelot cannot see him. It would ruin everything, and I will _not_ let that happen," she told him in Latin so only she and her brother could understand. With that she turned and walked off, elegantly flowing over the damp grass and towering above the rest of her people. But only Gwillam seemed to notice the great weight that was now over her, and made her stoop a little more.

really short, I know…Sorry! Now, help would be much appreciated as to where this should now go… I know I need to 'draw it out' a lot more. Thank-you!


	11. Chapter Ten: The Two Wolves

[ update 2011: I've had to reformat this chapter as the 'double-spacing' that characterised the scene-changes no longer seems to work ... huff!]

(A series of scenes that flip between flashbacks 6 years ago and the present moment in the story if you can't work out my madness!

Many, many, many thanks and bunches of flowers go to Janell who has set me off on the writing path again with many suggestions. This is just a couple of the trains of thought she has led me on, so this story can continue)

Chapter 10: The Two Wolves

Iseult was beginning to regret doing this. The abandoned villa was cold and the small fire she _had_ lit she and had to put out once it had become dark. She had had to lie low for a while, as she was now so well-known around this area. She had some contacts who she knew would not betray her whereabouts to Arthur and they had tided her over for the past fortnight until this night. She could hear her horse snorting outside as he chomped down on the grass, ears undoubtedly pricking at the smallest sound. Iseult was glad she had not brought her son with her. He would undoubtedly be feeling the effects of this cold night by now. She had left him in the capable arms of one of her friend's wives, who could easily pass the child off as her own if it came to it, having 6 others of various ages. Iseult sighed and stamped out the last embers of the fire, sending orange embers flying out onto the floor of the villa and sat down, pulling a blanket around her as she briefly thought of the journey ahead of her, back to her lands, then shrugged those thoughts off; her brother had, from news travelling around the area, already left the fort a few days after she had, and was most likely in the Iceni homelands, making ready for her arrival. At least it would make her journey a little less difficult; but she didn't want to return to her people yet. She wanted to be with Tristan as long as possible, to make him _stay_ as long as possible.

A snap in the trees ahead made Iseult leap up and curse herself for stamping on the fire. She moved to a wall and watched, still as she could be, to see who was coming towards the villa. There was no moon visible in the sky, but Iseult heard no more movement in the trees, which made her even more suspicious, although her horse seemed undisturbed from what she could tell. Iseult felt her heart slow a little as she thought that she was just being a little high-strung, when she realised that someone was sneaking up behind. She reached for the knife in her shirt and whipped round, hand out in front of her, only to have it caught and her body pressed up against the wall of the villa. Iseult struggled but the grip was just too tight and her hand eventually released its grip on the knife. She then heard a voice say:

"Good girl," and realised that she had been about to stab Tristan. She let out a long breath and giggled then caught another as his lips unexpectedly pressed against hers and his hands pushed her arms away from her body against the wall, holding her against it so she couldn't move-not that she would have. Her stomach kept flipping as she kissed him back and heard herself curse under her breath without meaning to. She didn't need to see Tristan's face to know that he smiled at that.

"I didn't think you were coming," she whispered into his ear. Tristan kissed her neck and chest then looked at her through the darkness.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

... ... ... ...

Lancelot paced the hut like a wild animal, his anger manifesting itself as occasional grunts and growls of frustration. He slammed his hand against a wall, then looked up at the high window in the hut that let in the high-afternoon sun. A beam shone through and lit up his bed. Outside, he heard the sounds that he had heard for the last week; the conversations in a tongue he was only just beginning to understand, people singing, and, the most heart-wrenching of all, children playing. Every time he heard one of the boys' voices, he wondered if it was Iseult's child. He still wondered if that child was his. As his mind wandered into daydreams, a tall guard entered and looked around before catching sight of Lancelot in one of the dark corners of the hut. He walked over to him.

"Come with me." Lancelot looked at him blankly and the man frowned before repeating what he had said.

"I heard you the first time. I thought I wasn't allowed out?" he asked him in the common tongue.

"Under orders from Ion, you are to be allowed to exercise, to strengthen yourself."

"Does Ise…Do the Queen's orders not count in her own land?" Lancelot corrected himself as he asked the man a little sarcastically.

"Do you want to be let out of here or not?" he retorted, before turning and walking out of the hut, not waiting to see if Lancelot was following or not. A wry smile crossed Lancelot's face as he crossed the hut and pulled back the curtain that had held him back for so long, stepping past it and letting it fall as he stepped gratefully into the sunlight.

... ... ... ... ... ...

The air was getting colder as Tristan and Iseult made their way to the hut where Taron was snuggled warmly between two other children, quietly sleeping. Iseult smiled as she looked at him.

"How has he been?" she asked her friend's wife at the door.

"Oh, he's been no trouble, my lady, no trouble at all. Quiet as can be," she told her, peering to the side of her to try and discern who the man in the dark was. He kept as far out of the light as possible, constantly looking about him and keeping on eye on the women in front of him. He didn't want this woman to recognise him, even if she was supposed to be trusted. Women were confounded gossips, especially after they had had more than 4 children.

"We must leave at morning light. I won't come in unless he wakes. The hay barn will be more than comfortable enough. The woman looked shocked.

"But my lady, you could not possibly sleep there. Among the animals!"

"Really, I have slept in worse places in my life, and it is crowded enough in that room there without another two bodies taking up space. And anyway," she lowered her voice. "My companion will never come inside. Much too…fidgety. Always alert. He hates confined spaces." The woman nodded as she eyed Tristan again and then insisted that they take some blankets with them. Iseult graciously accepted and then after the door shut she walked back over to Tristan and took his hand, pulling him towards the barn where some of the animals had been tethered. Iseult tied her horse loosely to one of the walls and set about making herself comfortable in the piles of hay and straw. She looked up as the moon broke through a cloud in the sky and illuminated Tristan standing guard at the entrance. Iseult smiled and turned to fold one of the blankets into a pillow. A screech made her turn around again, and she saw Tristan's hawk land on her Master's arm and playfully nip his hand. She heard him mutter something to the bird, and then she turned and flew up into a nearby tree, giving one final screech before becoming silent. Tristan looked back at Iseult seated on the straw and gave a brief smile. Iseult smiled back at him.

"I don't think we're in any danger, Tristan. Get some rest."

"Just…wait a moment," Tristan said as he cocked his head to one side, then the other, listening for anything that could be out of place. Two owls started hooting to one another and Tristan finally relented, turning back to Iseult. He lay down next to her and felt for her hand in the darkness. It was cold. He clasped it between his hands and pulled her closer. As they fell asleep, his hand didn't release her own.

"Tristan," she asked. "Why are you still holding my hand?"

"So I know you're still here," he whispered hoarsely. Iseult stayed silent, but got closer to him in the dark and quietly said,

"I'm not leaving you yet. Not yet." before falling into a deep sleep.

... ... ... ... ... ...

It took a few moments for Lancelot's eyes to adjust to the afternoon sun. He took a few steps forward, his arm over his face until he could see his surroundings clearly. He gradually let his arms fall as he looked around this village for the first time. He could already hear excited murmurs from people close to him, walking past, doing their everyday chores, cooking. Then some children ran past him, and Lancelot swung round to watch them run off, not noticing the warrior amongst them, too engrossed in their own world and their games. The guard stood watching Lancelot dispassionately, looking him up and down. This man hardly looked like one of the Sarmatian soldiers, as his father had told him they had looked like.

"Follow me, knight, before you attract too much attention to yourself." Lancelot turned and looked at the guard. "And don't think of trying to run away," he added.

"What made you think I'd do something as stupid as that?" Lancelot asked before turning away from the crowding villagers and followed the man towards the outskirts of the village to a stream. There, he saw the shaman Ion standing next to a brook that ran alongside the village. He slowed and stopped about 5 feet away from him, watching the old shaman as he chanted something over the river, making signs with his hands that Lancelot could not make out. Eventually, Lancelot became bored with standing waiting for this man to address him, and he didn't know how long he would be allowed to savour the delights of the sunshine, so he spoke to Ion in Latin, having heard him speak it years ago at the fort.

"Why have you let me out? The Queen told me herself that I was not to be let out until I was fit enough to rejoin Arthur." Ion stopped chanting and turned and smiled at Lancelot briefly.

"Luckily I am the only one amongst her people who has the authority to disobey her. I've seen many Kings and Queens rule over my people, Lancelot, and they all have a weakness, no matter how strong they may seem. For most of them, that weakness has always been the Romans, pillaging, killing, leaving, then returning again to make sure that we still crawl in the dirt beneath their feet. Some of our leaders, of course, never were scared of the Romans, and their weaknesses would be drink, money, power; all those things that were given as bribes."

"I don't see where this is going, shaman," Lancelot cut in.

"I mean, Lancelot, Iseult's weakness is different to all the others I have known in my years in this body. Her weakness is _you_. And that is why she wishes to keep you in that hut; away from her, so she doesn't have to be reminded of all she lost when she left you." Lancelot stayed silent, shocked by the words coming from the old man's mouth. She still loved him; that was what he meant. She still loved him after all these years. Ion continued.

"For some reason she found it easier to leave you in the North with Arthur, and bring herself and her son here. She thought perhaps it would make it easier for her, Lancelot. She thought that perhaps that way, she could eliminate you from her mind. It may have worked, but news travels fast. She heard about you taking a wife two years after she left, and that nearly destroyed her. More than once she nearly left us in illness, but then she recovered. I kept all news away from her after that. Is it true, about what happened to your wife?"

"Yes. She died in childbirth."

"Ah, I am sorry. She was meant to be a great beauty, was she not?" Lancelot's eyes welled with tears but he took in a deep breath and blinked them away.

"Yes…she was…Too fragile though," he whispered. The shaman nodded and turned back to the water, contemplating.

"So Iseult doesn't know about her. That she died?" Ion looked back at him, then at the floor, and back to the water.

"No. Now, you must go; walk a little more, Lancelot, strengthen yourself."

"Please tell her. She must know."

"Turn around, Lancelot," the shaman said without looking at him.

"I will not leave until you have told me you will-"

"Lancelot, turn around now before you lose the chance to see your son!" Ion snapped as he glared at the knight. Lancelot stopped speaking and realising what the old man had said, swung round. On the top of the sloping bank where he and just come from, a small boy stood, wooden sword in hand, staring at the knight, too awestruck to move. Lancelot stared back, equally dumbstruck, and let out a short burst of laughter. The boy finally found the will to move and ran off to join his friends, laughing. Lancelot stayed where he was.

"Taron", he whispered.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Living in Shadows

Chapter 11: Living in Shadows

The coast was near; Iseult could smell it. The three of them had been travelling as slowly as possible, prolonging the journey so that Iseult and Tristan could spend as much time as possible together. Now Iseult could smell the ocean she knew that the time for him to leave must be coming soon. She didn't want to think about it, yet that thought now invaded her entire being, and she could do nothing else other than think about it. Beside her, Tristan watched her, and he felt a heavy cloud settle on him as he realised that she'd smelt the ocean about the same time that he had. That cool, salty breath now entering his lungs was an omen of departure, and leaving this beautiful woman riding next to him on this unpredictable island. He looked away from her, letting the wind blow his hair over his eyes. Iseult suddenly let out a cry. Tristan's head swung round, senses alert for danger, but when he looked at her face she was laughing at something up ahead. Tristan followed her gaze and saw, coming over the hill ahead of him, a small band of villagers coming towards them. Iseult quickly stopped her horse and swung her leg over her saddle, sliding off her mount as smoothly as possible to avoid any jarring movements, then quickly walked over to the group who were now running towards her, yelling and laughing and crying as they carefully embraced her, shouts of surprise at the child in her arms. She embraced them all, kissing them in their cheeks and looking each one of them over, commenting on their health. as Tristan rode up and dismounted, he realised that he knew none of the words being spoken. He stopped a good few feet away from the group until Iseult had greeted all of the members and turned round to introduce him to them. She spoke something then continued in Latin.

"Everybody, this is Tristan, the Sarmatian scout, friend of King Arthur. Tristan, these are some of my friends who I have not seen since…since I left 3 or 4 years ago. Gods teeth, I forget how long it has been since I last saw you all, and here you all are looking quite grown-up!"

"You've changed yourself, Iseult," a tall lithe raven-haired girl commented. "A child. Who did you have that one by then?" She leant in closer to Iseult. "By this great warrior, I hope? He looks quite the wild one. How did you tame him?" Iseult giggled like a young girl.

"Kerra, honestly… It's a long story. One that needs a long night with a warm fire when I'm up for divulging secrets. As it is, we have all travelled a long way and need somewhere to rest. Any possibility…?" The group laughed.

"Iseult," another girl said between laughs. "You're still the Queen, you don't have to ask for anything." Iseult blushed a little, remembering what she had left behind, and turned to her horse. Tristan just casually looked around him, eyeing up these people from Iseult's past, wondering if they would give her away to her clan further south.

"Mama, mama!" Iseult whipped round, expecting to see her son crying, or hurt, but instead he was beaming from ear to ear.

"What is it my love?"

"The great warrior, mama, I saw him, I saw him!" Iseult's face turned to a stone as she picked Taron up and looked into his face.

"Where?" she asked brusquely.

"Mama, what have I done? Have I done something wrong?" Iseult smiled briefly and kissed him, holding his head against her neck.

"No, my love. No, you haven't. I would just like to know where you saw him."

"By the stream, talking with Ion. He didn't look like how I thought he would."

"Did he see you?" Iseult asked, ignoring Taron's comment.

"Yes."

"Did you speak to him?"

"No mama. He…when he looked at me, I felt a bit…scared…So I ran away…I'm sorry I was scared, mama. Please don't be angry with me." Iseult gave Taron a final kiss before setting him down.

"I'm not angry. Everyone must be scared at least once in their lives. And I don't think you were scared, darling. Go and play with your friends now."

"Yes, mama." Iseult smiled briefly again as she watched her son run off to join the other children, then her face turned icy once more as she slowly and deliberately turned and walked towards the stream where her son had seen Ion and Lancelot talking.

...

"I think it would be best if you left now, before Iseult comes," Ion told Lancelot as he stared in wonder where his son had been standing moments before.

"What?" Lancelot asked, not really listening to what Ion had just said to him. He grabbed him by the shoulder and looked deep into Lancelot's eyes.

"Go now, before Iseult sees you here." Lancelot's face registered confusion.

"But…what will she do?" Ion was about to answer when he cocked his head slightly then frowned.

"Too late, she is here already." Lancelot looked behind him to see Iseult standing where Taron had been, glaring down at the three of them standing by the stream. She cut an impressive figure standing there. The wind blew her dress tight against her, and her cloak flew out from her shoulders, creating a dark shadow behind her. She flung out an arm and yelled something against the wind. The guard who had escorted Lancelot to Ion smirked at Lancelot and loped off, spear in hand, up the hill, and stood a little way behind Iseult, waiting. Iseult waited until he was far enough behind her before slowly walking down the hill towards the two remaining men.

"What is going on, Ion?" she asked, clearly restraining her anger. Ion didn't answer but stared at Iseult calmly.

"Did I not expressly say that _he_ was not to be let out of that hut until he was fit and ready to leave?"

"You did," Ion agreed.

"Well? Why is he out here, then? I gave those orders for a reason, Ion. Just because you have the authority to override them does not mean that…you wanted him to see Taron, didn't you? After all have gone through to protect him from his parentage…"

"Not to protect, Iseult, to hide," Ion interrupted. "You've been hiding from your past since the day you came back, since the day Tristan left you."

The warm hut still seemed a luxury to Iseult and Tristan. The warm soft mattress and blankets, too, were novel to them. They lay, curled up against each other, arms and legs wrapped around each other, silently sleeping. After over two weeks here in this isolated village, in a far corner of Iseult's land, they had been able to hide themselves without too much trouble. Not many Iceni came to this part of the lands unless they had family here, so they had little chance of being found out.

The baby began to stir where it was sleeping in a cot, a few feet away from the bed, on Iseult's side. Tristan stirred and opened an eye, looking round the room. Taron made a few gurgling sounds, but it didn't seem like he was going to cry. Tristan gently uncurled himself from Iseult and leant over her quietly, stealing a glance at the boy to make sure. Taron was still asleep, facing Tristan, a peaceful look on his face. Tristan smiled and then felt a hand on his arm. He looked down to see Iseult staring up at him.

"Did I wake you?"  
"…Yes, but that's alright. I'm used to it…Is he waking up?"  
"No. He's fine," Tristan answered, shifting and leaning down to kiss her.

"Good," Iseult replied, kissing him back. As they kissed, they both heard rain begin to fall outside.

"Sounds like it's coming from the sea," Iseult murmured between kisses.

"It is," Tristan replied. Iseult suddenly stopped kissing him and looked at him, searching.

"You…" she began, then stopped, not trusting herself to finish the question. She blinked away the tears that were itching to pour down her cheeks and instead looked away, at Taron. Tristan brushed her cheek with his hand and then sighed. He rolled back onto his side of the bed and looked up at the roof of the hut.

"I'm not going to leave you anytime soon," he told her quietly. Iseult didn't look at him.

"But you are. Whenever you leave, it'll be too soon for me." Tristan stayed quiet. Iseult didn't expect an answer from him. He was always going to keep some of his feelings hidden behind those captivating eyes.

"I shouldn't have said that," she finally whispered. "We said we were going to enjoy the time we had with each other…not count down the days." Tristan stayed silent. Iseult, not looking at him, couldn't tell if he was angry, upset, anything. She lay there for a few minutes, silence except for the rain pattering down on the roof. She felt Tristan move next to her and then felt his strong arms around her and his lips pressing on her neck. She smiled.

"Let's enjoy it, then," Tristan told her.

Lancelot's ears pricked up at hearing the scout's name. Iseult and Ion had been speaking in their own tongue, and up until now he had understood next to nothing. Iseult stared at Ion and tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. Lancelot stared at her-this woman who still loved him, whom _he_ still loved. Clearly Ion had said something about Tristan which had hit a major nerve

"How _DARE_ you!" she spat, her body shaking with anger. Both Lancelot and Ion frowned. Iseult turned to Lancelot.

"You…" She started with barely supressed rage. "You will go back to the hut _now_."

"Iseult," Lancelot began, but she had already turned and was making her way back up the hill

"You must talk to her, Lancelot. Tell her about your wife."

"How can I tell her when she's like this. I've never seen her this angry before."

"The pressure from Arthur, a son to look after, seeing you again. These things have pushed her close to her limit, Lancelot. You must bring her back from the edge. I can do no more," Ion finished. Lancelot turned to look at him, but the old shaman was no longer standing by him. He turned round, looking for him, but the man had vanished. When he look up at the guard and Iseult, they didn't seem shocked. Iseult's face did look more hurt than angry, he thought as he studied it. He began to make his way up to them. He could try. He'd lost her Iseult, he'd lost his wife. He didn't have anything to lose by trying to bring them back together again.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Leaving

Chapter Twelve: Leaving

The wind was blowing towards the mainland. The storms had ceased. The weather was improving. Tristan watched all these signs from the door to the hut he shared with Iseult and sighed inwardly. He watched as a few women from the village walked past him with empty woven baskets, walking towards a coast-based village to collect fish caught overnight and to catch up on any gossip(excluding their Queen, of course). Tristan caught their wary and inquisitive eyes as they passed and gave them a brief smile. The women smiled back and tittered amongst themselves as they ambled away from him.

Tristan turned his head to look inside the hut and blinked for a few seconds to adjust to the dim light inside. He could see Iseult's form stretched out on the bed where he had left her. He stared at her for a long time, then looked back out in the direction of the sea where he could hear the distant sound of sea-birds. Last night, he had had what Arthur would probably call a revelation. He had woken in the middle of the night-the time of night when all seems dead and still-and had lay there on his back staring at the ceiling until an hour before sunrise, thinking about whether he should leave or not. His head had been a whirl of thoughts, yet, he had come to several conclusions through the night before he eventually went back to sleep for an hour. Being torn between Iseult and his homeland-that had been his biggest worry. His feelings towards the woman breathing deeply in her sleep beside him were, he realised, confused, and entangled with his feelings towards one of his few friends. One of these feelings he could identify was that of Possession. He wanted to possess Iseult, to make her belong to him and him only. Love, he had decided, at this point no longer entered into the equation. It had, a while ago. Or had it been lust. He didn't want to analyse his past too much, only to remember it as he had experienced it. A man could live too much in the past, wishing he had done one thing or another, only to let the present slip away from his grasp. As for the child asleep by his mother. Tristan knew that he would make a terrible father. He was, by nature, a private, lonesome soul, and the only time he had truly connected with anyone was when they were in his bed, or were called Iseult. He would never bond with the child as Bors would back in the North. Tristan thought this, yet deep inside, a buried feeling, was that Taron was not his. This subconscious thought had mostly sealed his decision, without Tristan being aware of it.

And as Tristan stood at the door to the hut, with his hawk on his arm, looking out towards where the sea was, his heart, he now knew, truly lay across the now calm waters that separated the mainland and Island. His sabre now lay on the bed where he had been sleeping, the last reminder of his 15 years of slavery in Britain, and his bow and quiver were on his back. He strapped a broadsword he had found in the weapons hut in the village to his waist and his hawk gave a low cry as he took one last look at Iseult before letting the curtain drop.

Iseult woke a few hours after dawn. She felt the emptiness beside her before she saw that Tristan was no longer in bed with her. A breeze drifted through the curtain that acted as a door and Iseult shifted in her bed, turning round to look at the empty space beside her. She gasped slightly when she saw the sword lying next to her. Her eyes glassed-over slightly as she tentatively put out a hand and touched the leather sheath. She looked up at the curtain again, but knew that there was no point going after him. Tristan had left her.


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Realisations

Chapter Thirteen: Realisations

Iseult couldn't bear to be in the village after Tristan had left, so she returned home a few days later. She was welcomed back with open arms by her people, along with her son. Her brother gladly handed over the leadership to her, and Iseult became Queen. Deep in the heart of Iceni lands, she could put in the back of her mind those things which had held her heart too tightly, and which, she thought, had affected her judgement. She had to be a strong force to lead these men and women who relied on her for the most important decisions. Iseult made sure through loyalty and concealed threats that the years she had spent away from the tribe were kept a secret from all apart from those select few who had been there.

She found herself drifting back in time as she watched Lancelot make his way up the hill towards him, after the Great War with the Saxons at Hadrian's Wall, and a vision of a younger man, self-assured, striding along the courtyard of the great outpost, amongst the horses, sheep and children playing amongst the chickens. She was younger then. More naive, perhaps, but less hardened than she was now. Lancelot looked up, and her stomach jumped. The arrogance she had seen earlier was gone suddenly. There was such pain in his eyes...Iseult could barely hide it any longer. Turning, she walked away from Lancelot, who was now being directed into his hut, and let the silent tears fall.

Pain had aged her, she decided later that night, as she now stood underneath the pitch black sky. She wished for the light balmy summer nights, but relished the winter for the peace she had when no-one was around, and she would stand beneath the sky and think. Taron was asleep in the hut. All around, there was the yellow glow from fires that edged wooden doors and the smoke-holes in the roofs of the huts. Iseult walked on, away from her own hut, pulling the heavy wool cloak tighter around her shoulders. There wasn't a strong wind, but the air was icily cold, and Iseult didn't feel she could stay out much longer. Before she knew it, she found that she was standing looking at Lancelot's hut. The guard had been changed, and was sitting by the door wrapped against the wind and cold weather, his sword ready in his hand, but asleep. There was the glow of a fire from inside, the light from which could be seen as the blasting wind pulled at the covering of the door, showing the gaps between the wooden slats. Iseult moved closer, and, like a young girl, put her eye to a gap to see inside.

It was filled with yellow light from the fire, and extra rugs and furs to keep out the cold. There at the one end was the bed Iseult had to carefully prepare before others had brought Lancelot back from the snowstorm, but Lancelot seemed not to be there. Her eyes widened at the possibility that he knew she was there, or that he had escaped, or ... No, there he was, coming into her frame of vision, his back to her. He turned to the side, and Iseult thought he must have shaved after their encounter earlier. He must have heated some water on the open fire, too, because he now placed a small, steaming bowl on the bed next to him, and began to wash his face. He was shirtless, and Iseult let out a small gasp at the sight of his body, In the interjecting years between their last meetings, Iseult had heard of the battles in the North, had seen the scars her own men returned with, but to see her former lover's new scars caused her considerable pain. After all, she had one of her own that she had gained from protecting him all those years ago; a scar that still caused her pain now, and cut like a dividing line across her stomach, a raised white line, like chalk, marking her as the victim of a past love, a love that was stirring its limbs from where it had been sleeping. His breathing was heavier, she observed, and there seemed to be a few grey hairs now streaking his head. With each passing moment Iseult was allowing herself to look more, to notice someone she thought she would spend the rest of her life trying to forget. It was a hopeless situation for her to be in, a weak one, she would tell herself night after night, when hours would pass and still she had not slept for more than a few minutes. How she wanted to be with him, not to hide outside in the cold where she could no longer feel her fingers and have to voyeuristically watch someone she knew – if she could only will herself to move her legs – be beside in a moment.

She leaned her weight onto the wood of the hut, and a twig cracked and splintered. Even with the noise of the wind, Lancelot's ears picked out the sound and he looked up sharply. Iseult froze, her ice-blue eyes wide, and stepped backwards once more into the darkness, and Lancelot was left with only the sleeping guard and the furs for company.


End file.
